But he was enough of a woodsman to
know there could, in all probability, be but one end to such a
fight.
Lad weighed eighty pounds,--an unusually heavy weight for a
collie that carries no loose fat,--and he was the most compactly
powerful dog of his size the Master had ever seen. Also, when he
chose to exert it, Lad had the swiftness of a wildcat and the
battling prowess of a tiger.
Yet all this would scarce carry him to victory, or even to a
draw, against a black bear several times heavier than himself and
with the ability to rend with his claws as well as with his
teeth. Once let Lad's foot slip, in charge or in elusive
retreat,--once let him misjudge time or distance--and he must be
crushed to a pulp or ripped to ribbons.
Wherefore, the Master brought his rifle to his shoulder. His
finger curled about the trigger. But it was no easy thing, by
that dim light, to aim with any accuracy. Nor was there the
slightest assurance that Lad,--dancing in and out and everywhere
and nowhere at once,--might not come in line with the bullet.
Thus,--from a tolerable knowledge of bears and of their
comparative mildness in the plump season of the year,--he shouted
at the top of his lungs; and, at the same time, fired into the
air.
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